


anchor

by brites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Banana and Sprite Challenge, Belly Kink, Burping, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6433030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brites/pseuds/brites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi Keiji regrets his life decisions. Alternatively: Akaashi tries the Banana and Sprite Challenge, and it goes about as well as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	anchor

It's just another one of those things that happen during the infamous Nekoma-Fukurodani joint parties; those crazy instances that everyone remembers (usually) afterwards but no one ever brings up again. Keiji knows the reputation that these parties have, because putting Kuroo and Bokuto in the same room for two long is usually sure to chaos and people embarrassing themselves on an epic scale. Adding alcohol to that is just a recipe for disaster.

Usually Keiji is good at staying under the radar and out of trouble. But at this party, apparently someone told Komi that eating bananas before drinking Sprite could make someone fantastically ill, and the libero just _had_ to try it out.

On someone else, of course. And somehow, Keiji winds up being the lucky volunteer.

“Are you sure about this, Akaashi?” Bokuto’s eyes are wide, and his expressive face seemed torn between excitement and worry. “It isn't as cool as it sounds, really. I did this one time before and I got sick _everywhere_. You really want to go through with this?”

Keiji glances around the circle. A crowd has gathered by this point; Komi, Konoha, and Yamamoto are all watching him eagerly, and the soda cans and bananas have been laid out on the table in front of him. Keiji glances around, swallows, promises himself that he is absolutely not succumbing to peer pressure, and then nods his head.

“I'm sure I'll be fine, Bokuto-san,” he replies, maintaining his placid demeanor as he leans across the table to pick up the first banana. “I have a strong stomach.”

He does; Keiji hasn't thrown up since he was a small child, and it is a fact he grows prouder of after every joint-team party, when Bokuto and Kuroo are suffering from their own respective hangovers and he and Kenma snapchat their pain back and forth. So he isn't really worried; more curious as to what would actually happen.

(Not to mention, maybe it is nice to be the center of attention for a few minutes; nice to have _Bokuto’s_ attention solely focused on him.)

The first banana goes down in under a minute, only a few quick mouthfuls; the second follows in much the same way. Around him, a few people are cheering, and he feels Konoha clap him forcefully on the back before pressing a Sprite into his hands. Now the real test would begin.

The two bananas are already resting in Keiji's stomach, on top of the half a beer he had drank near the beginning of the party; at the moment, his stomach doesn’t feel particularly full. It certainly feels steady as ever. Keiji glances up, catching Bokuto’s anticipatory gaze for a quick second before opening the can of Sprite and downing a large gulp.

As soon as the liquid hits his stomach, Keiji knows it is _wrong_ ; the Sprite reacts acidically with the banana, bubbling in his belly and causing a pang of discomfort to shoot chills up his spine. He hadn’t expected to feel nauseous so early on, but he definitely doesn't feel very good after that one sip. He forces back a wince of discomfort as he continues to gulp it down.

He’s good at chugging, better than he'd thought; he manages to drain the can in just a few large gulps, which settle in his stomach surprisingly heavy. When he pulls away from the can to take a breath, a cheer goes up amongst the crowd. Somebody claps him on the back, and Keiji jolts with a hiccup. His stomach feels much fuller now, fuller than it probably should from just one can of Sprite; the bananas really are doing their job well.

“How do you feel?” Komi demands eagerly, leaning in. “Are you gonna puke?”

Akaashi pauses for a moment, assessing himself, before shaking his head. “I feel fine.”

Komi pouts, and he doesn't look like a third year at all; he looks like Bokuto during one of his mood swings. The corner of Keiji’s mouth twitches, and Komi must sense his line of thought because he jabs him in the shoulder before pressing another soda into his hands. “Drink up.”

Akaashi does so, ignoring the gurgle of discomfort his stomach gives off at the increasing amount of soda he is filling it with. This time, he doesn't have such an easy time chugging; he has to stop midway, ducking his head away from the crowd and pressing a hand over his mouth. This doesn't save him from the burp that rolls out of his mouth anyway, escaping from beneath his hand.

_“BuuuuuUUURP!”_

Keiji flushes, surprise and embarrassment registering on his face in equal measure. Komi is cackling, Bokuto’s eyes are huge, and he's pretty sure Konoha is filming all of this. He feels more nauseous now, somehow, than he had before burping.

“Number three!” Yamamoto cheers, and Keiji manages to catch the can when it’s tossed to him. He opens it and the carbonation hisses out at him; he presses the can to his lips, tasting cool metal and not much else as he focuses doggedly on drinking as much of it down as he can without gagging.

He finishes off with a light coughing fit, and it takes him a minute to catch his breath again. Keiji’s stomach gurgles loudly in protest, and he slumps over the table. A hand pressed to his mouth does little to stop the belch burbling up in his throat, and he clutches at his stomach with his other hand as he feels it churn with nausea. God, he feels sick.

“Akaashi,” someone says behind him. “Breathe, man.”

He takes in a breath; but it is cut off by a gurgling burp that turns into a gag, and he doubles over the side of the chair. Suddenly he is very certain he is going to be sick; he can feel the Sprite swelling up in his stomach, hot and bubbling. He scrunches his eyes shut, pressing both hands over his mouth to try and quell the inevitable tide of sickness before it can wash him away completely.

_I'm not going to throw up. I'm not. I won't…_

“Akaashi.” Bokuto’s voice is uncharacteristically soft; he feels the broad hand of the ace on his arm, sees him kneeling next to him out of the corner of his gaze. “Do you want to stop?”

He _does_ , actually; he already feels way too sick, nausea churning within him and pushing him to his limit. His stomach feels painful and bloated, swelling out slightly from beneath his deep blue t-shirt, and he’s sure that one slight push on his abdomen would send all that soda flowing right back up again.

But he isn't about to stop now. Maybe Keiji is a bit too stubborn for his own good after all.

He glances up at Bokuto, presses his lips, and then shakes his head.

By the time he grasps the fourth can, another sensation has settled in his stomach; dread. He smothers that back down, shifting in his seat to make more room for his stomach and tossing his head back to gulp the soda down. He's gotten good enough at this by now that it only takes him a minute to finish; when he does, he lets out an unexpectedly large belch, and feels the nausea surge within him again. His world is spinning slightly.

“I've got you.” Bokuto’s hands are on his shoulders now, grounding him; Keiji closes his eyes against the touch, leaning against him as the ace begins to pat his back. This is all the force it takes to ease another belch out of him, loud and sick-sounding.

“Oh man,” someone mutters. “That doesn't sound good.”

“He looks really sick,” someone else adds, and Keiji can feel without seeing the atmosphere of the crowd begin to change; people are growing more hesitant now, even the enthusiastic Komi.

Another can in pressed into his hands; number five. “Last one,” Komi promises, and Keiji knows it's an awful idea but he's going to do it anyway. Bokuto's touch leaves him feeling warm and yearning for more, and right now all he can focus on is the thought that if he finishes this without vomiting, Bokuto will comfort him.

Somehow, he does manage to finish; and as soon as he does, he slams the can down and leans back in his chair. His stomach is groaning awfully, bloated beneath his shirt and straining against the waistband of his jeans; the pressure is only making him feel even sicker, so Keiji reaches down to undo the button. As soon as his hands touch his stomach, however, he lets out a fantastically ill-sounding belch and doubles forward, groaning.

“It's okay, Akaashi,” Bokuto soothes, and Keiji slumps unconsciously against him. His stomach aches horribly, gurgling as he moves, and Keiji is very certain that he won't be able to move from this chair. Bokuto moves for him, wrapping his arms under Keiji’s and lifting him from the seat. The much more muscular teen has little trouble dragging him over to the couch, where they both collapse together.

By this point, Keiji feels well and truly sick; he slumps against Bokuto’s chest, head pillowed on the other boy’s pectoral, while Bokuto hums soothingly and strokes through his hair. Keiji’s stomach presses down on him heavily, and he trembles slightly against the other boy as nausea rolls over him in waves.

“I told you it would be bad,” Bokuto mutters, words vibrating against the top of Keiji’s head. “I told you… ahh, poor Akaashi. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I don't… feel good,” he manages to choke out, muffling a belch into Bokuto’s chest. His face flushes but the other boy doesn't seem to mind, simply patting Keiji between the shoulder blades lightly.

“Try burping some more, it might help.”

Keiji is terrified that if he burps, he'll wind up puking; but he does what Bokuto says anyway, because surely nothing could possibly make this any worse than it already is. His gut cramps and his fingers fist into Bokuto’s shirt, and he involuntarily lets out another weak burp. Bokuto pats his back and another burp gurgles up in his throat, Keiji forcing himself not to swallow it down again. He is met with success; the sound that comes out is small and frail, but his stomach does feel a bit emptier for it.

“Good job,” Bokuto praises, and Keiji wonders if his face is so warm from the strain on his stomach or from being so close to Bokuto. Then, suddenly, another surge of nausea rises within him; he knows what's coming. There is a split second of panic where he realizes that he is about to throw up, he is going to throw up and there is nothing he can do to stop it; and then he is gagging, lurching forward, and Bokuto is helping him bend over as he empties his groaning belly onto Kuroo’s living room floor.

The Sprite reemerges first, and it's even worse coming up than it was going down; it burns the back of Keiji’s throat, leaving his mouth tasting bitter, but at the same time it feels so _good_ to get the toxic mixture out of him. His body trembles and Bokuto massages between his shoulder blades gently. Keiji manages to catch his breath before promptly belching up another surge of soda.

The only thing grounding him is Bokuto; Keiji turns to him as soon as he can breathe again, coughing and shaking violently, and he probably smears sick on his shirt when he presses his face into the other boy’s chest. Bokuto allows it, making distressed noises of his own as he hugs Keiji close, and he only loosens his grip when Keiji burps again and begins to gag against him. The setter turns away just in time to let up another stream of illness.

By the time he's done, his stomach feels hollow and still all too swollen. He slumps against Bokuto, allowing the ace to scoop him up -- actually pick him up in his arms, how humiliating was that -- and he feels almost too woozy to register when they start up the stairs.

“Kuroo has a guest bedroom,” Bokuto explains quietly, and the relief Keiji feels at getting away from the rest of the party is almost overwhelming. He closes his eyes, head dropping against Bokuto’s shoulder; he doesn't move until he feels himself lowered onto a bed, and even then his hands grip tightly to Bokuto’s shirt.

“Don't leave,” he groans; and he knows he sounds utterly pathetic. His breath probably reeks, his mouth tastes of bile, and his stomach is still tender; what's more, this is all entirely his own fault. He wouldn't blame Bokuto for leaving him now and going back to the party.

But to his surprise, Bokuto doesn't go; instead he curls up next to Keiji, even obliging even as the sick boy rests his head against his chest and wraps weak arms around him. Bokuto is very solid, very strong, and he anchors Keiji even when he’s half-delirious from sickness.

“I'm sorry,” Bokuto mutters, the words rumbling in his chest, and Keiji is too far gone to be able to speak; he only hums, pressing his face against him as if to say _it isn't your fault._ The older boy lets out a long sigh.

Keiji’s breathing is still interrupted by the occasional hiccup, but otherwise the night seems very peaceful. Beneath them, the party still rages; but for the two teens in bed together, there is only each other, sleep, and silence.


End file.
